


Rain

by Starkidjordan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, cryogeic stasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7127396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkidjordan/pseuds/Starkidjordan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is brought out of cryogenic stasis after two months under T'challa's protection. Steve has been watching over him every single day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble was written for Whydouwantaname on tumblr who provided me with this lovely prompt: "So, Steve, what did you do while I was in the cryo?" Or how Steve tells Bucky that he practically just watched over him. Please!
> 
> Make sure to check out their tumblr!!
> 
> And if you want me to write you a Stucky prompt visit my ask at sgtbarnescaprogers.tumblr.com/ask and I will happily write it for you!!!!
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> -Jordan

It’s raining the day Bucky comes out of cryo. Steve stands just outside the medical room where the doctors prepare to bring him out, fiddling with the controls, taking vitals, and speaking words foreign to Steve's ears. T’challa is in there, quietly observing the process, his presence filling the room. It had all been too much for Steve, and T’challa was kind enough not ask questions when Steve excused himself from the medical room with wet eyes and a rough voice.

Leaning forward, Steve rests his forearm on the glass above his head, staring out at the fierce statue of a panther, seemingly leaping towards him, ready to snap for his throat. He accounts the image of the panther to be the reason for the panic that was crawling its way up inside him. He closes his eyes, trying desperately to steady his breath, and focus on the sound of the rain. _He used to love the smell of rain_ , Steve thinks to himself, a sad smile rising his cheeks. He wonders if Bucky would remember what rain even smelled like, or if they had taken that from him too. His fingers tap a nervous beat against the glass as he focuses on a happy memory that itches behind his eyes, before their lives had been tainted by hydra, before they were torn apart again, and again.

 _Hiyah, Steve_ , and it’s Bucky, and Brooklyn, and Steve is sticking his head out the window, and Bucky’s legs are all sprawled out across their fire escape, and his back is pressed to the metal railing. It’s cloudy, and grey, and little drops of cool water are falling from the sky.

 _Hey, Buck. You’re gonna get soaked if you stay out here, y’know_ , and it’s him, but how he was before, all skinny and bright pink-- from the days in the summer sun, or maybe from the way Bucky is looking at him, eyes sparkling, mischievous.

Bucky breathes in deep through his nose, tilting his face to the sky, closing his eyes against the steady drizzle. _Yeah… Well, I’m not the one who gets pneumonia every time the wind kicks up, Stevie_ , and Bucky grins, cracking an eye open to catch Steve’s reaction. Steve tosses his head back and barks a short laugh. _You’re a jerk, you know that, right?_ but there’s no violence in his words, only a warm, familiar, fondness that sits on his tongue.

“Rogers,” A cool, familiar voice speaks from behind him, pulling him back to reality. Steve smiles-- he’d missed her.

“Natasha,” Steve turns, and she’s there, already drawing him into an embrace. They have a way with each other: an unspoken understanding. Steve secretly hoped she would turn up when this day came, and of course she did, right on time. “I haven’t seen you since...”

“I know. I’ve got the government on my ass, but it was worth it, Steve,” She says, her lips tugging up to one side. “Besides, I’m pretty good at laying low.” Steve lets out a breath, ducking his head as he feels his emotions wash over him. “Natasha, thank you,” _Thank you for being here, for always being here, for what you did on the tarmac, for understanding, for everything._ But it’s too much to put into words so he leaves it at thank you, and she knows. Of course she knows. A silence stretches between them as they move to stare out the window together.

She glances up at him after a moment. “How’s Sam?”

Steve huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes fondly. “Sam’s good. He’s here, somewhere. Begged me this morning for one more week of peace without ‘Sergeant Psycho’, but you know… I think he’s secretly excited we’re bringing him out,” Steve smiles, knowing Sam is most likely keeping watch over the security footage, ready to jump in if something goes wrong. “He’s a good friend.” Steve adds, considering how supportive Sam has been in the months Bucky was in cryo, as well as how much danger Sam put himself in to find Bucky in the first place.

“The others are… Also here somewhere, but I think they wanted to give me some space today. Or maybe they’re not totally convinced about Bucky either,” Steve adds, and Natasha nods, her expression unreadable. Clint was probably the one who contacted her in the first place. Those two had no secrets from each other, and it doesn’t surprise him at all that Clint would’ve known how to find Natasha the whole time.

A moment passes, before a voice behind them speaks, and Steve is the only one who jumps.

“Captain. Ms. Romanoff,” The strong voice of T’challa rings throughout the hall. “We are ready. He will regain consciousness in only a matter of minutes,” He says, nodding at Natasha kindly, whose smile is genuine, and almost apologetic. He turns, and heads back to the medical room alone, giving Steve and Natasha one last moment to themselves.

“Ready?” Natasha asks patiently after watching Steve take a moment to steel himself. He nods, keeping his eyes forward, and they walk into the medical room together.

Bucky’s unconscious body has been removed from the cryo chamber, and is laid on a hospital bed, a heated blanket tucked tight around him. His metal arm stops just below his shoulder joint, black material covering the exposed wires and jagged metal that was yet to be removed. Steve’s body moves without him telling it to. He approaches the bed and places his right hand on Bucky’s left shoulder where what remains of the metal arm meets flesh. He brings his other hand up, stopping just short of Bucky’s jaw, his skin itching to touch him. But the doctors are looking at him, and Natasha is behind him, and T’challa is there, so he stops himself. Bucky’s skin is pale, and clammy, and his eyes are still closed, unmoving. Steve half-hears the doctors speaking, until a kind looking woman in a lab coat places a hand on his shoulder and catches his attention.

“Captain Rogers,” The woman says, her accent thick, and her eyes warm. “He may be frightened when he wakes. Try to stay calm, and explain to him where he is. We have no reason to believe there will be any memory loss, but it may take him a moment,” She walks around the bed to a cabinet, rummages around in it for a moment, and returns to Bucky’s bedside with a needle filled with clear liquid. “To help him wake,” She explains, injecting the fluid into the IV in Bucky’s real arm. _Only arm_ , Steve corrects himself in his head, keeping his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, his thumb stroking a particularly jagged scar near his collarbone.

There is a moment of stillness, silence. Then, Bucky’s eyes shoot open, and his body jerks violently.

His eyes are wide, and he makes a noise, like an animal in pain. Bucky moves in a strange, foreign way, almost as if he was trying to reach out with his left arm, but only his shoulder moves, and he looks down at it in shock, a terrible wildness in his eyes.

“Bucky, Buck--” Steve says breathlessly as Bucky squirms under his hands, one still on his metal shoulder, and the other reaching across him to rest on the ribs of his right side. Bucky’s right arm flies up and grips almost painfully at Steve’s upper arm, and his eyes snap to Steve’s. Bucky’s movement stops, and his eyebrows come together. His hand shifts its grip on Steve, pulling on him roughly. His mouth opens, then snaps shut, his eyes flickering to the doctors, to T’challa, Natasha, back to Steve, then back to the people surrounding him.

Steve registers Natasha’s voice in the back of his mind, blinking hard when Bucky looks back to him, breaths coming out in panicked huffs. “Give them some space. Back up, everyone,” Natasha states. Her voice is quiet, but the authority in it is clear. Steve hears shuffling and the automatic doors slide open, and understands that it is only the two of them left in the room.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve. Do you know where you--”

“Steve,” Bucky repeats, his voice flat, eyes blank. “I-- Steve,” He says again, and suddenly his grip loosens, and he lets out a long, shaky breath, recognition flooding his eyes. Steve blinks, feeling wet, hot tears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t care enough to wipe them away, and he doesn’t think he could pull his hands from Bucky if he tried.

“Hey Buck,” He says, gripping Bucky’s side tighter, sitting himself on the edge of the bed when Bucky pulls him instinctively closer. After a moment Bucky steadies his breath. He adjusts his body so he’s sitting up, leaning back against the pillows, and lets his hand drop from Steve’s upper arm, keeping it loosely wrapped around his wrist. He opens his mouth again, but something holds him back, and he tears his eyes from Steve’s.

“What is it, Buck? You can ask me anything you wanna know. Do you know where you are? Do-- do you remember everything?” Steve said, words coming out in a rush.

“How long?” Bucky asks quietly, and Steve knows what he’s asking. He knows what it’s like to lose time.

“Two months, Buck. Longest two months of my life,” Steve says, the truth spilling out of him before he can stop it. “I missed you. Bucky. God, I missed you.” Bucky nods, his eyes tired. He leans his head back against the pillow and tightens his grip on Steve’s wrist.

“Missed you.” Bucky says, and it’s almost a question, like he’s still unsure of himself, like he’s testing the words in his mouth. He looks tired, so tired, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

It takes close to an hour, but Bucky eventually lets Steve call for the doctors to come back into the room, and they quietly check his vitals, and start a fluid and nutrients drip. They ask him questions, _What hurts? Do you know where you are? Does your body feel numb? Can we look in your ears, your throat?_ Steve stays on the edge of the bed with Bucky the entire time, and Bucky only removes his grip from Steve’s wrist if the doctors ensure him that it’s absolutely necessary.

Natasha is there too, and his eyes go to her nervously once or twice. She murmurs a greeting in Russian, and he smiles, and that makes Steve smile too.

The doctors leave after a while, telling Steve that they’ll monitor his vitals all night. T’challa and Bucky exchange a look before he leaves, and there is no tension between them, only a mutual respect. Natasha places a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes, and says something to Bucky in Russian again that almost makes him laugh, and Steve is so grateful.

And then it’s just the two of them.

Bucky’s eyes are on Steve, running up and down every inch of him, unashamed, drinking him in like it’s been months, years, decades since he’s been able to do this. Which, Steve thinks sadly, it really has.

“Steve,” Bucky’s heart is beating fast and his arm comes up to grip at the front of Steve’s shirt, the motion panicked and desperate. “Steve, I wanna-- can we go somewhere else? I want to-- breathe. Can we just get out of here?” Bucky says, eyes flickering to the IV in his arm, the fear in his eyes clear.

“Yeah, Buck, yeah, hold on--” Steve breathes, leaning over and carefully removing the IV from Bucky’s arm, as he’d learned during the 40s. He helps Bucky remove the other equipment, ignoring the beeping of the machines. Pushing back the blankets, Bucky stands shakily, reaching out for Steve’s arms to steady him. He’s wearing the loose pants and white tank top he had gone into cryo with and shivers without the blankets.

“C’mon, I know a place.” Steve says, leading him out of the medical room, and into the hallway, walking a ways until they come across a set of double doors, which leads out onto a balcony, high in the air, looking out at the enormous panther. The air is warm, and humid, and it’s still drizzling a little. Bucky blinks in the light, walking himself to the edge, gripping the railing for support.

Steve watches as he tilts his face to the sky, closing his eyes against the rain, and breathes in deep. Steve wipes at his eyes, unable to keep the tears from spilling over again at the sight of him. _He remembers._

“You always did like the rain,” Steve breathes, quietly.

Bucky turns around to face him, a smile playing on his lips, his legs more steady, and his breaths quiet, and calm. Moments pass, and their eyes stay on one another, not needing words. They just stand, unconcerned by the quiet, and the rain.

“So what did you do?” Bucky asks eventually, receiving a hum from Steve in response. “While I was-- asleep. What did you do? Any missions?”

“Oh.” Steve blinks, bringing a hand up to his neck. “Uh. Oh, no. No missions. We’re laying low. You know, being fugitives and all. So I just, sort of--” Steve says, pink rising high on his cheeks.

Bucky tilts his head in confusion, walking towards Steve who looks at the ground, feigning interest in his shoes.

“Steve?” Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, who is close and smells familiar, like rain, and sweat, and summer in Brooklyn.

“I uh, watched you. Stayed with you.”

“You watched me.” Bucky repeats, unreadable. “For two months.”

“Well-- I, I mean, I did other things too but mainly. I, well, yeah--”

“You’re a goddamn hopeless fool, Rogers, y’know that?” Bucky breathes, and faster than Steve can fire back a response, Bucky’s hand is on his neck, and their lips meet roughly like it’s been months, years, decades.

And it has.

So they pick up where they left off.


End file.
